Simmer, Then Stir
by Nagi Kokuyo
Summary: A year after the Lighthouse blew up and Joe Carroll died, Mike Weston sees the news reports about the subway murders. St. John is not happy about Mike returning to the FBI, and even less so about his boyfriend's interest in a certain Ryan Hardy.


**Title: **Simmer, Then Stir

**Author: **Nagi Kokuyo

**Fandom: **The Following, X-Men movie!verse

**Characters: **Mike Weston, Bobby Drake, St. John Allerdyce, references to Ryan Hardy

**Pairings:** Mike Weston (Bobby Drake/Iceman)/St. John Allerdyce (Pyro), minor Mike Weston/Ryan Hardy

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Spoilers for _The Following _season 1 and _The Last Stand, _language, homosexual relationship between two men, sexual innuendo (but no actual sex, this time), mentions of voyerism

**Disclaimer: **Oh how I wish differently, but I don't own any recognizable characters or events from either _The Following _or the _X-Men _movie!verse.

**Summary: **A year after the Lighthouse blew up and Joe Carroll died, Mike Weston sees the news reports about the subway murders. St. John is not happy about Mike returning to the FBI, and even less so about his boyfriend's interest in a certain Ryan Hardy.

**A/N: **There aren't any spoilers for season 2 of _The Following, _but definite spoilers for season 1, so proceed with caution. Minor spoilers for the third X-Man film, but at this point, if you don't know what happens, it's your own damn fault and I can't be held responsible for ruining the end.

* * *

It's been eight years.

Eight years to the day, actually, since the mutant terrorist known as Magneto led an army against Alcatraz. Eight years since the X-Men faced the Brotherhood and won, with losses on both sides. Eight years since Jean Grey's final death, since a young Bobby manifested his secondary mutation and carried an old friend off the island.

It's been one year.

One year since Joe Carroll's death. One year since Mike managed to find a happy medium between the past and present, FBI and X-Men, agent and Iceman. One year since Claire was killed and Ryan was broken. One year since St. John Allerdyce walked back into his life.

Eight years, one year. All that time crawled past, painfully, agonizingly, excruciatingly slow when he was living it, but now. Now he looks back and realizes it all passed in an instant. He wonders what life'll be like when he looks back in another year, eight years. He expects to be on better terms with Ryan, to have reconnected with the X-Men, to have preserved his relationship with St. John. Maybe he'll even go back to the Mansion and start teaching, retire from FBI duty.

He doesn't expect this.

* * *

Mike props himself up on the bed and reaches for the remote. The body behind him grumbles in protest and presses a warm nose into Mike's back. The agent smiles grimly and reaches back to entwine their fingers—hot and cold, both calloused by their individual journeys, familiar in so many ways. He cranks up the volume and watches in horror as the event of the previous year rear its ugly head once again.

_"…__five are confirmed dead. One victim survived and is currently being treated at Manhattan Memorial for multiple stab wounds…There were at least three perpetrators involved and it is an active investigation…"_

_"…__could this be the work of Joe Carroll's cult?"_

_"__Do not speculate, please…This week marks the anniversary…"_

_"__Is Joe Carroll's legacy alive and living in New York? That's what the people of New York City fear as five people…are unwilling to save if this attack is connected in any way to Carroll…"_

He swears.

"...whassat?"

Mike glances over his shoulder at his bedmate—ruffled brown hair in dire need of a good cut, tanned skin marked with burns and scars. A wire-thin 'M' scar is carved unto his left lower stomach, right above the smattering of dark hair trailing down below the sheet draped over his waist.

St. John Allerdyce blinks sleepily up at his boyfriend and pokes him in the side.

"What's got you all bothered?" John asks, more lucidly than before.

Mike sighs and flops back on the bed, and runs a hand through his sweat-spiked hair. John snuggles up against him, soaking in the chill that he can't generate himself; Mike drapes a hand over the smaller man's shoulders, feeling the heat radiate from the pyro. There's silence for several long seconds, and then Mike kisses the top of John's head and nuzzles his hair. He loves John's hair.

"...I think I'm going back to New York," he murmurs into the soft, overlong mess, and waits for the blowback.

John huffs. "Fuck. Why's that? Gotta drop in on that bloody Hardy bloke again?" he grumbles, curling his finger into Mike's bicep possessively.

Mike laughs softly; John can be a jealous bastard when he feels threatened, and no one does that better than Ryan Hardy. It's lucky that they've never met, or Mike would have some serious explaining to do.

Starting with why his dominating Aussie boyfriend could chuck fireballs like humans throw baseballs.

He tilts John's face up and presses a firm kiss to his lips. He can still taste himself from their last round and it kindles the smolders in his stomach.

"Don't be like that, Johnny," he says against the pyro's mouth. "It's not like that."

John lets the nickname slide, and that's when Mike knows he's really worried about Ryan. John hates being called 'Johnny.' Mike squeezes him tight and kisses him again, deeper and sloppier this time, scratching his skin with his facial hair; John surges into it, digging his nails into Bobby's skin and kissing back with a fervor to match his mutation.

"I swear," Mike insists when he pulls away, "nothing's happened, and nothing will."

John snorts and looks Mike—_Bobby_ straight in the eyes.

"But you want it to." It's not a question, and Bobby doesn't treat it like one. He also doesn't bother bullshitting John, who can always tell when he's lying. Takes one to know one, and all that.

"Yeah," he admits. "I'd like to. But he's too in love with Claire, and too damaged by what happened to her."

This actually elicits a harsh, humorless laugh from John, who shrugs off Bobby's arm and sits up. Bobby watches the light from the window drape over him, highlighting the faded blonde streaks in his hair—the only remnants of a defining teenage rebellion that almost killed him. Bobby remembers and thanks God every day that he got John out alive instead of listening to Wolverine and leaving him to die via Phoenix.

John stares off into space and doesn't say anything for the longest time, and for a moment, Bobby's worried that he's going to be dealing with Pyro rather than St. John. He really hopes not, he's likes this apartment, and dealing with fire marshals is a pain in the ass. But then John reaches out and threads his fingers through Bobby's hair fondly, and says, "If you want, you can bang him on one condition."

Bobby raises an eyebrow and pushes up into John's hand. A challenge or an agreement. Both. Neither. The two men have their own language that doesn't make sense to anyone else; hell, half the time it doesn't make sense to Bobby. But it's always there.

The Aussie smirks.

"I get to watch."

Bobby laughs and pulls John into another kiss. "Love you, too, Johnny."

"Oi!"

Eight years and counting.


End file.
